Tenebris Resurget
by Mattwho81
Summary: On a supposedly routine mission a group of Space marines find they must pursue a deadly foe. This story is a sequel to my previous story Serrati Stella's.
1. Chapter 1

**Tenebris Resurget**

From high on the mountainside one could see for hundreds of miles, the endless plains sweeping away until they hazed to nothing in the distance. Every inch of that plain was built over with soaring cathedrals and minarets all gilded in gold and boasting pointed spires or outlandish statues. For Sacellum was a shrine world, an entire planet set aside for the worship of the Emperor, its every resource poured into glorifying Him on Terra while the huddled masses starved in shanty towns around the foundations.

Standing high on the mountainside was a giant in power armour basking in the sharp morning sun. He carried a chainsword and bolt pistol, his name was Toran and he was a Sergeant in the Ninth Company of the Storm Heralds Chapter.

He stood surveying the world below comparing it to his own Chapters' practices of Emperor deification and not liking the similarities he was seeing. In disgust he turned and looked around behind him but the sight was hardly better.

Before him were the bloody remains of a battlefield, stretching from the forested foothills all the way up the slopes to the craggy cliff faces of the mountain. Covering the field were thousands of mutant corpses sprinkled with power armoured bodies. Some in the blue and grey of his Chapter but others in a far darker hue adorned with jagged lightning bolts, flayed skin and polished skulls.

Scattered among the corpses were the burnt out wrecks of Rhinos and Predators, Land Speeders and even the revered form of a Dreadnought, its animotic coffin burst and leaking. For this had been the last battleground of the invasion of Sacellum, where the Storm Heralds had finally crushed the forces of the pirate Night Lord Vorshaan, who had plagued this sector since before Toran was born.

Moving through the battlefield were hundreds of grey clad Chapter Serfs and they combed the ground meticulously, searching for the bodies of honoured Battle-Brothers and lost Chapter artefacts. Most of them were young boys, failed aspirants and sons of older Serfs but a few were grey-haired. They were branded with the Chapter symbol to indicate their status as Overseers.

They all sang work songs as they moved, ancient hymns whose words had lost all meaning over the millennia but whose spirit endured. Toran saw more than a few boys pocketing spent bolt shell casing, trying to garner luck or simply to be closer to their Transhuman Masters. A prohibited practice but one absolutely nobody could be bothered to enforce.

He walked through the wasteland, stepping over mutant bodies and respectfully avoiding the honoured fallen, he passed by Apothecary Memnos who was kneeling to perform his sacred duty of harvesting the gene-seed of the dead, it went without saying the Traitors own progenoids would be burned.

Toran saw his squad patrolling the site, guarding the serfs and the Chapter's legacy then he approached two of his brothers who were walking together clearly in deep discussion. One of them was Novak, a young and inexperienced marine but a prodigy with a blade in his hand.

The other was Halis Paur who had only been with them a few days, he had been part of a squad in Seventh Company but had seen them all wiped out in an ambush and been left for dead himself. So severe were his injuries he had been confined to the Apothecarion for almost a whole week and then after taking spiritual council had been reassigned to Pyrus squad. Toran wasn't sure what to make of his new subordinate for he was intelligent but also bitter and cynical, however given what he had lost that was understandable.

He marched up to the pair and said, "Halis, Novak you two seem distracted. Exactly what pressing concern takes up your attention?"

Novak didn't catch the subtle admonishment and replied candidly, "I was just wondering what Pyrus squad did to earn this assignment? I mean we barely saw a hint of glory in the battle, my blade tasted nothing but mutant blood and now we are stuck here guarding the clean-up crews."

Halis let out a derisive snort and said, "Ha child, if you wanted glory you should have joined a Battle company, we are reserve Company. We get all the crap assignments."

There was a sound from behind them and suddenly a deep baritone voice barked, "I trust you are not disparaging the recovery of the Chapter's sacred relics and noble steeds as crap."

They turned and saw a Red-Clad techmarine standing behind them, his servo harness bearing plasma cutters and hydraulic arms. His name was Hevostan and he was an old acquaintance of Toran's.

Hevostan had only recently completed his training on Mars and had returned a changed man. Everything from his enhanced armour, servo harness and cold, detached demeanour was different. If it had not been for his baritone voice and habit of cussing under his breath he would have been unrecognisable. Toran had tried to talk to him in passing but the Techmarine seemed distant and uninterested in reminiscing.

Toran faced his old friend and said, "Of course not Honoured-Brother, we are merely contemplating our duty to the Emperor."

Hevostan replied coldly, "Strange for it sounds as if your squad does not appreciate the contribution of the Omnissiah to this victory; many sacred machine spirits were sacrificed to the Traitors guns."

Toran cocked an eyebrow and said "If you are concerned by the amount of veneration the Machine Spirits receive I suggest you attend to those serfs over there."

Hevostan turned and saw a crowd of serfs gathered around a burnt out Predator, there was a throaty roar followed by cheers as they coaxed its engine back into life. Hevostan raced off muttering under his breath "Shunt Error Abort, those fools awake a wounded steed without first offering sacred unguents or the litanies of appeasement! Did the Overseers take them for servitors and lobotomise them by mistake?"

Toran watched him go and sighed at the lost friendship, then he looked over the battlefield as something caught his eye, working among the serfs was a towering figure, gene bulked and densely packed with muscle. He wore a serfs' plain tabard but there was no disguising he was an Astartes by nature.

Toran paused and said to Novak "Who is that?"

Novak looked over and said over the Vox, "Him? that is Bylan, we were once aspirants together."

Toran said, "He was a failed aspirant? That is unusual, most who make it that far into the gene seed implantation either succeed or die I have never heard of someone going so far and then failing. Were his skills inadequate or perhaps his purity was found wanting during the test of the Guardian Storm?"

"Perhaps it would have been easier if it were so" replied Novak, "Tragically he made it all the way into the Scouts but then there were some issues with gene-seed compatibility, I am no apothecary but I recall barracks talk about his Multi-lung not taking. The last time I saw him the Chaplains were taking him away to the Serfs quarter where he could still make some contribution to the Chapter."

"A shame" said Toran eyeing the youth "But then it is not for lesser men to understand the mysteries of the Emperor's gene-crafting."

They walked on and surveyed the battlefield, watching the serfs as they worked; Novak sighed and with the whine of youth said "This is just dull."

Toran shook his head, "This is a great triumph the end of a threat that has plagued the Imperium for ten thousand years, songs will be sung of what occurred here. You should be honoured to be present."

"Yes but Vorshaan the Dusk Prince is dead, his head mounted on a pole so why are we still here?" whined Novak.

Halis rolled his eyes and said "This is an important duty; the Chapter could not long survive if we failed to harvest the gene-seed or just left every fallen bolter and vehicle where they lay."

"You want to know what it is I don't understand" said Novak.

"No" sighed Halis, "But i am sure you are going to tell us anyway."

Novak kicked headless red armoured body and said, "We were supposed to be fighting Night Lords but according to my hypno-indoctrination these are the colours of the Khorne Beserkers, over there is a Noise Marine, that's Alpha Legion and that one... I don't even know whose colours that is."

Halis snorted in derision and said, "Ha, You are mistaken to think these traitors have any more loyalty to their Legions or each other than they do to Terra, they care for nothing but themselves and the spoils of war. In a Chaos warband one fights alongside whomever suits at the moment, even their fealty to the Dark Powers comes from expectation of reward not brotherhood."

Toran was surprised by the bitterness his Halis' voice but after what he had suffered perhaps it was understandable. He was about to join in but was interrupted by a new voice piping up.

"My lord" the voice came, deep and resonant as only the Transhuman could be. Yet there was a breathlessness present, a weak quiver that Toran had never heard in any brother before. He turned and saw the serf Bylan standing before him head bowed in respect, his youthful stubble a contrast to his tonsured scalp.

Toran said, "Do not keep us waiting then boy, what is it you want?"

Bylan did not dare look up as he said, "Master we regret to report we have lost contact with one of our worker parties scouring the highlands, all attempts to raise them have failed. Overseer Gregor humbly requests permission to send out a search party."

Toran flexed his arms and put one hand on the hilt of his chainsword and said, "I can do better than that, I will go myself."

"My lord?" asked Bylan with a youthful quiver of hesitation

"Relax" said Toran "This will be an easy task and I could use the exercise. Halis, Novak care to join me for a stroll?"

The two brothers grinned and hefted their weapons at the prospect of relief from this dull duty. Toran turned to the serf and said, "Boy, ask Overseer Gregor to provide us with a guide."

"With respect Master" replied the boy "I was in the highlands yesterday morning, I know the route well."

"Very well" replied Toran, then he keyed his vox, "Furion your in charge until I get back, some lost serfs need to be sheparded back"

And blithely they set off with little idea what horrors awaited them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tenebris Resurget: Chapter2**

Up the high sides of the mountain climbed four figures, each massively over muscled Transhumans. Three were clad in thick ceramite plates but walked with their faces exposed, to any casual observer they would have appeared to be out for gentle stroll but these were the Imperium's Finest and there was no moment where they were not prepared for battle. Their eyes constantly scanned the terrain, subconsciously evaluating threats and their hands were never more than a moment away from their weapons. The fourth however wore only grey robes and had his eyes fixed firmly on the ground before his feet, trying not to humiliate himself before his Masters.

As they walked Novak drifted closer to Toran and said, "So Sergeant how much longer do you think we will be on this wretched world?"

Toran thought about it for a moment then said, "A day perhaps two to retrieve the Chapters' relics and collect the armour of the honoured dead. Most of the squads from Seventh and Ninth Companies have already boarded the Light of Terra and Captain Jossat is leading Fourth Company to ceremonially present the Traitor Vorshaan's head to the Imperial Governor."

"Then where next?" asked Novak "Rumour has it there are rebellions brewing in the mutant slums of Sucaris or that the Psybrid Xenos are stirring from their Nest."

"No" replied Toran, "Not his time, our companies are to return to Lujan to replenish the ranks and retrain."

Novak smiled and said, "No doubt we will also be covered in glory for our great victory here."

Toran frowned and remarked, "Tread carefully young one, a Space Marine does not seek glory for its own sake and duty should ever be forefront in his mind."

"Yes Sergeant" replied Novak in the brash tones of youth that proclaimed he was not truly admonished, "Still it will be good to see the blue of our homeworld's oceans once more and taste the purity of the Guardian Storm."

Now it was Toran's turn to smile, "Yes indeed it has been too long we felt the unleashed fury of the hurricane on our faces."

The Sergeant reflected on this for a moment, the Chapter's homeworld was covered in vast oceans with an unusually slow rotation rate. The result of this was that the majority of the planet's weather was gathered into a series of epic stormfronts that hovered on the Terminus between day and night. These storms advanced at exactly the same rate as the planet's rotation leading to permanent cyclone wherever the light of dawn or dusk fell.

He had heard Imperial adepts trying to explain the phenomenon with meteorological science but no son of Lujan would have truck with such profane arts. In their hearts every citizen knew that the Guardian Storm was sent by the Emperor to test the purity of mankind and winnow away corruption. So important was this to the cultural identity of the Lujanites that the Chapter had taken the Storm for their namesake and strove to Herald its virtue throughout the galaxy.

In fact it was the Chapter's most sacred rite to stand on the battlements of their Fortress Monastery unarmoured and let the tempest test their purity. Any brother who slipped or stumbled in the heart of the typhoon was seen to have let impurity into their soul and would be dragged away to the Chaplains and Librarians for shriving and self-flagellation until the Masters were satisfied that the weakness had been purged.

While Toran was reflecting on history Novak was looking over to where Halis Paur was climbing a loose rock scree and said, "I wonder how our dour brother will fare in the ritual test? I wager he will be the first to stumble in its unleashed power."

"Now you do overstep yourself Brother" said Toran sternly, "Halis is a veteran of the Chapter and you will give honour to his service."

"I hear and Obey Sergeant" quipped Novak cheekily then he bounded forwards, leaping from rock to rock with the eagerness of youth.

Toran found himself left walking alongside Bylan who had been walking silently all the while. Toran found himself wondering at the boys' future, he understood the role of his brothers and he could grasp the place of the Serfs in the mission of the Chapter but this strange child did not quite fit into either. He observed how the boy clambered over rocks and slopes with a strength no mortal man could boast but he could hear his breath labouring with the high altitude and his chest heaved with a weakness never seen in any true Astartes.

They climbed up a near vertical slope and once at the top Bylan had to put his hands on his knees and bent over to suck in great gasps of air, while Toran effortlessly crested the ridge. The Sergeant offered his hand to help the child up but he shook his head and said, "Please Master, you do not need to do that, I am not worthy."

Toran was taken aback, no Astartes would take so little pride in himself, he said, "What happened to you to make you say such things?"

Bylan sighed and said with the hollow voice of one who has explained this countless times said, "I was once a Scout-Novice, blooded and marked for ascension yet when the Apothecaries implanted my Multi-lung there were complications. The organ itself functioned perfectly but my immune system did not, it tried to reject the implant and attacked it at cellular level."

"Surely the gene-crafting was proof against such an attack?" asked Toran surprised.

Bylan drew in a breath and said "The Apothecaries claim it was but my mortal lungs were not, the immune response scarred my respiratory tract and crippled me. By the time they realised what was happening and corrected the aberration it was too late, the damage was done and my chances for ascension were gone."

Toran considered this and frankly asked, "Did no one discuss Augmetics replacements with you?"

Bylan looked away but too late to conceal a look of abject despair and hitch in his voice as he said, "Who would waste fine augmetics on a failed novice?"

Toran was disturbed by the hopelessness he saw on the serf's face, not really understanding how anyone could be so apathetic. Many held that the Astartes had their emotions cut out of them which could not be farther from the truth. It was more accurate to say their responses to emotion were shaped and resculpted. Everything about Toran's psyche had been carefully reconstructed to make him a fiercer warrior, rage, despair and fear were all but fuel for his zeal and he could not grasp how anyone could just accept their doom without fighting fiercely against it.

Eventually he settled on saying, "That must have been hard to hear."

"I still have purpose" said Bylan defensively reciting the Serf's creed, "I serve the Masters in all things and in doing so strengthen them for the fight."

Before Toran could respond he was interrupted by a sudden shout of discovery from Halis, he turned and left the serf to move forward. He saw Halis standing on a rocky ridgeline waving him over and he bounded up the ridge to find himself looking down into a sharp gully.

No not a gully: a slaughterhouse.

Everywhere they looked a nightmarish scene played out before them, grey-clad bodies strewn about rotting in the hot afternoon sun. Toran's expert eye analysed the scene and instantly reconstructed the events, this was the work of a single being pouncing upon a dozen strong men and overpowering them effortlessly.

Many had tried to crawl away after the fact but every corpse showed signs of broken leg bones and shattered ankles preventing them from fleeing. The deaths had been slow and painful, the killer taking time over every individual kill and making sure each was exquisitely painful and prolonged.

One serf had been nailed to a boulder, iron spikes driven through his shoulder blades into solid rock leaving him hanging like a tapestry. His eyelids had been delicately removed so he could not avert his gaze from the horrors played out before him. Whoever had performed this atrocity had been deliberate and delicate, clearly wanting to extract every last drop of pain and torment from the serfs.

The horror played out in Toran's mind and one thing was abundantly clear, whoever the killer was he wanted to fill his victims with Fear.

Bylan crested the ridge, he took one look then bent over behind a rock and began throwing up the contents of his stomach while Toran drew his weapons and scanned the perimeter. He took up a defensive stance and opened up a Vox channel declaring, "Pyrus Squad this is Sergeant Toran, I am declaring a War Footing. Take up arms brothers and steel your souls for battle."

"There is still one Night Lord left alive out there"


	3. Chapter 3

**Tenebris Resurget: Chapter3**

Down the steep sides of the mountain transhuman figures raced in a wide spread formation, weapons raised as they pursued the trail before them. The terrain was rugged and broken with rising hillocks, sharp clefts and piles of looming boulders: perfect for an ambush.

They moved swiftly but surely, ever watchful for a trap as they hunted down their quarry. To ensure they did not miss anything the squad spread out, searching each possible hiding place but in doing so they were forced to move beyond visual range only keeping in contact by vox.

Behind them raced a smaller figure in grey robes trying to keep up while desperately labouring to breathe. As they advanced Toran was talking on to the rest of his squad via the Vox, he relayed messages through Persion who was Pyrus squad's communication specialist.

Toran barked, "Report status!"

Persion replied, "We are sweeping up the mountain, as long as you keep driving him down towards us there is no way he can slip past us."

Halis' voice cut in into the link saying, "You have no idea what Warp Tainted abilities this scum boasts; nothing is certain where the infernal powers are concerned."

"We will face that possibility when the time comes" said Toran, "What of our reinforcements?"

Persion replied "Captain Jossat is requesting confirmation, the Traitors have been declared exterminated and it was confirmed that the Dusk Princes' forces are all as dead as Vorshaan himself."

Toran gritted his teeth as he advanced and voxed back, "Then tell him someone made a mistake, those kills were fresh,one Heretic must have slipped the net."

There was a long pause on the Vox, then Persion's voice came back saying, "Captain Jossat agrees however the Light of Terra is currently in orbit on the far side of the planet. They are changing vectors but orbital dynamics do not alter on a whim, redeploying the reserve Companies will take at least five hours."

"Five hours is unacceptable" retorted Toran, "This Heretic could well evade the net and escape, we need more Marines to run him down."

"Fourth Company are on the far side of the continent but Seventh Company reports they have a squad in the region" replied Persion, "A Thunderhawk is on the way as we speak and will arrive within the hour, there are no other assets close enough to intervene."

"What of the Serfs?" asked Toran,

Persion replied, "Hevostan is organising them to retreat, Captain Jossat has ordered Transport diverted to collect them."

"Keep me informed" order Toran cutting the link.

The Marines kept moving onwards, pushing their prey further down the mountainside towards the approaching Pyrus squad. As they hunted they climbed ridges and swept around outcroppings of rocks.

They were making good progress but Toran was painfully aware how few they were. The mountain was vast and they were but one squad, the chances of this Traitor slipping past them were unacceptably high. Yet they had no other options, until their reinforcements arrived they were the only marines available.

Behind them Bylan was wheezing hard in his attempt to keep up, he crept closer and breathlessly asked, "Master, should I return to the other serfs?"

"Absolutely not" stated Toran with his bolt pistol held out before him, "There is a Chaos Marine out there, you would never make it back alive. The safest place for you is by my side."

Bylan nodded then asked, "Master, what sort of Traitor do we face?"

Toran's eyes never stopped sweeping for the foe yet he answered, "The blessed Roboute Guilliman wrote that information is victory, use your logic and examine the evidence at hand."

Bylan thought for a second, "The only evidence we have is the scene from the massacre so we know this foe is sadistic and bloodthirsty. He enjoys killing and takes his time, that suggests a Night Lord as opposed to a Beserker and the corpses were not defiled after death so not a Noise Marine either."

Toran was surprised how well informed Bylan was but then remembered he had been in the Scouts so must have received basic hypno-indoctrination, he asked, "And the trail before us, what does that tell you?"

Bylan looked down replied, "The trail is clear and direct making no effort to mask his route, suggesting he is either overconfident or not expecting pursuit, we may catch him unaware."

Toran was disappointed by the serf's obvious answer and growled, "You have identified the evidence but your conclusion is flawed. You have missed one key fact: the massacre was unnecessary. The forces of the Dusk Prince are cunning and sly, they never attack unless they hold all the advantages. If escape was this Traitors' agenda he could have slipped away and we would have been none the wiser. He chose to massacre the serfs leaving the bodies behind and this trail is too easy to follow, no Astartes would be so careless. As the Primarch would say, Theoretical: he wants to be found."

"But why?" asked Bylan struggling to understand.

"That is unclear" said Toran sweeping a cleft in the rock with his bolt pistol, "But take care, to try to understand the ways of Chaos is to invite corruption. We can only be Practical and expect an ambush."

They moved out of the highlands onto the smoother slopes, Toran calculated they were closing on the rest of Pyrus squad and yet there had been no sign of the Traitor. He cursed and thought that despite their precauitons the Chaos Marine must have slipped by them.

He was about to vox Persion for an update when he suddenly spotted movement ahead and a yell rang out on the vox, it was Brother Rickard moving up from the battlefield and shouting, "Contact, I have contact with the enemy!"

Instantly the squad changed direction, Toran was the closest with Novak and Halis barely a minute behind. The Sergeant ran for all he was worth and saw he was approaching a sheer drop off a cliff edge along which Rickard and the Chaos Marine were fighting.

From a distance he could see that the Traitor was clad in midnight blue plate, etched with jagged lightning. His helm was fanged with small unobtrusive wings on the sides and he had a large leathery cloak swept behind him that swirled and billowed as he fought.

He wielded a large polearm as long as a grown man with a serrated knife on one end and a roaring chain blade on the other, the infamous weapon of the Night Lords: a Chain glaive.

The traitor's movements were oddly graceful, flowing from parry to attack without hesitation. His pole arm was never still, lunging and withdrawing in hypnotic swirls then he would spin it in both hands with dazzling flourishes.

There was something poetic in his style, a beauty that was truly wrong coming from one so foul. His every gesture was informed by ten thousand years of combat and he always managed to find just the right spot to avoid incoming blows, to turn every parry into a counter attack.

Rickard's movements however could have been taken straight out of the Codex Astartes, following prescribed sets of blocks, parries and counter-attacks. Every attack he made was countered, every parry bypassed to leave deep scores in his armour. His style was unimaginative, formulaic and predictable, Toran recognised that Rickard was badly outclassed and pushed himself harder desperately trying to come to his brothers' aid.

Before the Sergeant could intervene the Traitor spun his chainglaive in both hands sweeping the end down and to the left to trip Rickard. The Storm Herald followed Codex prescriptions and did not move to parry the obvious feint. He raised his blade expecting a new attack from above but realised too late he had made a fatal mistake.

The Chaos Marine did not strike with his chain blade but instead grabbed his polearm laterally and shoved it forwards under Rickard's guard. The adamantium shaft caught the Marine across the abdomen and hurled him backwards, his feet swiftly repositioning to compensate but in doing so ruining his stance.

Rickard's guard fell and for an instant he was dangerously exposed. With elegant grace the Chaos Marine reversed direction swinging his polearm around to the right and the roaring chain blade came across at neck height to catch Rickard in the gorget.

The blade was perfectly angled to land between the curve of the helm and the rising neck ring. The fibrebundle musculature underneath offered absolutely no resistance and the Chain glaive parted flesh and bone. In one lightning swift move the Heretic swept his polearm around and spun on his heel to face the oncoming Sergeant while Rickard's headless corpse fell to the stony ground with a dull clang.

Toran screamed his fury at his brothers' murderer as he ran, he raised his bolt pistol and squeezed the trigger. He fired on full auto, hammering bolts at the Traitor chipping and denting the midnight plate, clipping grizzly skulls from his belt.

The Heretic buckled under the fusillade taking one step back and another towards the cliff edge, but then he straightened and in a hissing sibilant voice filled with smug pleasure called, "Too little, too Late". He put two fingers to his helm in a mocking salute before stepping backwards and without even looking jumped off the cliff.

Toran rushed to the edge and saw the Chaos Marine falling hundreds of feet in freefall before his leathery cloak spread out from his back, arching wide on bony ridges. Toran was shocked to see this was not some ornate affection but in fact large mutant wings growing from the degenerate's back.

The frail wings should not have been able to support the weight of an armoured Chaos Marine but they shimmered eerily with Warp Light and he floated down as light as a feather. Toran was left standing futilely over his brothers' corpse, he felt fury building in his heart yet all he heard was the Traitor's echoing laughter as he bounded away headed towards the east, escaping vengeance.

Toran's enhanced mind replayed the last few seconds with perfect clarity, recreating the fight in exacting detail. He analysed the Traitor's movements and style in a heartbeat and realised this one was a master of combat; Rickard had not even been in the same league as his killer.

Then something snagged at Toran's mind, the pattern of lightning bolts on the Traitors' armour was familiar, the Chaos embelms and the placement of kill trophies, even the Chainglaive was known to the Sergeant from his briefings.

With absolute horror the Sergeant realised he knew who this Traitor was.

"The Dusk Prince" whispered Toran in horror, "Vorshaan Lives."


	4. Chapter 4

**Tenebris Resurget: Chapter4**

Over the rocky barren slopes a large shadow danced and leapt over gullies and boulders, it was cruciform in shape and growing bigger as the object descended from the sky. As it descended bulky flanks and thick Ceramite armour became visible.

Its ugliness and brutality was a message to the universe from its makers: aesthetics were irrelevant, only its capabilities to wage war held any meaning. For it was a Thunderhawk but not a gunship, this was Transporter and it fell towards the ground lumbering like a grox.

From the ground Pyrus squad could see its approach as it angled towards them, they waited in a line of blue broken only by a single flash of white. Apothecary Memnos standing amongst them his narthecium filled with the gene-seed of the lost.

The squad stood in parade formation to welcome their reinforcements with all honour, the only blemish was that Halis was fidgeting with his combat blade drawing it an inch and resheathing it over and over.

Toran said, "Halis you dishonour yourself, stand to attention."

Halis muttered, "Honour be damned, when i get that conniving scum in my sights I want to cut him down with my own two hands" but he at least settled into position.

As the transport approached Sergeant Toran assessed the craft and saw that its large cargo claws were empty and that it was being piloted by two serfs. A singular honour to grant to mortals even if it was just for routine duties. Of course the Chapter would never allow them to fly in combat operations; there were standards to maintain after all.

The Thunderhawk slowed and engaged vectored thrust to come into a hover while the side doors opened. Without even waiting for it to land seven figures in Mark VII plate jumped out and fell twenty feet to the ground. Their landing sent up clouds of dust and pebbles and they took parade formation as the Thunderhawk rose in a blast of downdraft.

It hung for a moment then spun delicately on the spot, the serf pilots expertly manipulating the controls. With a roar of jetwash the Thunderhawk took off into the sky, headed west towards the battlefield and the serf parties awaiting evacuation.

Toran looked over his reinforcements and saw they were bearing the heraldry of Seventh Company and hefting bolters high. At their head stood a Sergeant with a Transverse crest, the laurel of Marksmanship and also with one augmetic leg. Toran felt his hearts sink at the sight: Mylos, of all the people to jump out of that gunship it just had to be Mylos.

The newly arrived Sergeant straightened and walked forwards his loathing plain to see in his body language. He marched straight up to Toran and ignoring all decorum and protocol spat, "We have been sent to clear up this mess you have made."

Toran bristled at the condescending tone in his voice but refused to be drawn in by his spite so he replied coldly, "The Chaos Lord has deceived us, Vorshaan is still at large."

"Ah yes" replied Mylos with a sneer, "I was informed of your guesswork, I find it hard to believe such an outlandish tale."

"I saw him with my own eyes" stated Toran bluntly.

Mylos replied dismissively "You saw a Traitor that at least I am prepared to concede but Vorshaan himself that is doubtful. Captain Jossat slew the pirate and took his head, you impugn the honour of Fourth Company with this fantasy."

Toran replied, "It is no fantasy he deceived us with foul Warp magic and has already killed one of my squad."

That shut Mylos up, even he could not speak ill of the honoured dead.

Toran stepped closer to him and said, "We must coordinate our search and run Vorshaan to ground before he escapes again."

Mylos drew him up straight and said,"Do not think to give me orders I have seniority here, I am in command" then he paused as something caught his eye and he asked, "Why is there that serf present?"

Toran glanced back at Bylan who was trying to go unnoticed and replied, "He was with us when we discovered the Dusk Prince's presence, it was too late to return him to the others."

Mylos snorted, "Try not to get this one killed then."

Then he turned and addressed both squads and declared "Form up in codex pattern Delta seven, my squad will take point, we will spread out across a wide front and head east. Pyrus squad will follow staggered between us, when one of us makes contact everybody will converge. We will surround this Traitor, whoever he is, from all directions and crush him."

Toran was surprised by this and said, "The Thunderhawk will not stay? Surely it would best be employed searching from the air."

Mylos didn't bother to turn round when he said, "Captain Jossat has ordered the gunship to evacuate the serfs from the battlefield. If you need someone to sit on your shoulder rest easy, the Light of Terra will be orbiting overhead in four hours. Besides we now have sixteen Astartes here, no one Traitor can defeat that."

He gestured to one of his squad mates who carried a Plasma gun and said, "This is Brother Wenver, my second you may liaise through him."

Toran bristled at the level of insult implied, to speak through a liasion like he was some lowly menial or Imperial Guard officer.

A large Marine stepped forwards, his armour decorated with kill honours and said in a much friendlier tone,"Greetings brothers, together we will flush this Traitor out and run him to ground."

Toran found himself instantly warming to Wenvers open manner but it was Halis who piped up saying, "Do you really think you can take him?"

Wenver hefted his plasma gun saying, "Worry not, give me one clean shot and I will kill this Heretic for you."

Without a further word Mylos' squad formed up and moved out up and Pyrus squad followed. The squads spread out to cover as wide an area as possible, sweeping the broken landscape for every nook and cranny where the Night Lord could hide.

Bylan kept close behind Toran trying not to slow them down but asked, "Master, is this wise? Surely with reinforcements only a few hours away we could wait and crush the Traitor with overwhelming numbers."

Toran never took his eyes away from his search but replied, "This is war boy, victory belongs not to one who waits for the enemy to act but to those who force the enemy to react their initiative. Besides the Emperor commanded us to destroy his enemies we will not let less than ideal conditions deter us from our sacred duty."

With those words the serf fell into silent contemplation as the search moved on.

With the hot sun on glinting off their armoured plates the squads drifted across the landscape, their towering silhouettes stark against hte barren grey terrain. As they walked Toran found himself near to Halis. He was not surprised when a request for a private vox link flashed in his visor.

He opened the link to hear Halis saying, "So... Mylos hasn't changed much then."

Toran swept behind a boulder with his bolt pistol as he said, "You knew him in Seventh Company?"

"Aye" replied Halis, "he was always a sour one but not usually such a miserable Feth ."

"He wasn't always" replied Toran sadly.

"Really?" asked Halis, "What happened?"

Toran cut him off saying "That is a long story for another time."

Together the squads swept the landscape marching in the hot afternoon sun, the chalky ground reflected the light making the world turn a dazzling white but the Space Marines were not made for such poetry and were focussed entirely upon their prey. They sectioned and cleared the slopes area by area, checking every possible hiding place.

As they search Toran could feel a tension building in his gut, an electric tingle at knowing battle could erupt in heartbeat. In a mortal the sensation could possibly be called fear but the Space Marines Knew no Fear. To them there was only the thrill of anticipation, keeping them alert and sharpening their reflexes for the fight ahead.

Toran was methodical in his search but inwardly he cursed the time it was taking, the squads were progressing too slowly while Vorshaan's wings could carry him leagues in the time it took them to cover a mile.

Yet Vorshaan had chosen to engage the Storm Heralds in battle, it did not seem likely he would just slink away with his tail between his legs. The Night Lords fed on suffering and fear and the squads deliberately presented a tempting target to draw him in.

As the sun began to dip low in the sky there was sudden yell on the Vox from brother Wenver, he was right on the end of the line and he was in distress. Toran cursed for he and Bylan were the furthest away from the location. They turned and sprinted as fast as their legs could carry them the Sergeant quickly outpacing the boy leaving him trailing behind.

For long minutes Toran ran hard, weapons in hand as he heard frantic yelling on the Vox net. Then he saw a dark shape ahead leap into the sky and fly away into the distance. His hearts sank, the lure had succeeded but the trap had failed.

He powered through dip in the hillside and rose up to see a tragic scene before him, gathered around in a circle were a ring of blue clad Space Marines standing around a fallen brother: Wenver lay dead with his throat torn out.

Kneeling over the body was Apothecary Memnos collecting the Chapter's due and next to him were standing Mylos, Halis and Novak.

Toran ran up to them and said "What happened?"

Novak looked around and said "Vorshaan happened, he took Wenver by surprise and went for the plasma gun first, must have recognised the greatest threat. Wenver never stood a chance and was cut down.

"How?" asked Toran, "How did he take a Space Marine by surprise?"

This time it was Halis who answered, "Vorshaan has been a plague on the Storm Heralds for generations, he knows well how to hunt Space Marines. The conniving scum withdrew as soon as he saw the rest of us coming, he took to the sky and headed East."

"You were supposed to provide backup, where was your squad?" Mylos interrupted as he stood over the broken body of his squad mate, he glared at Toran and hissed, "This is your fault."


	5. Chapter 5

**Tenebris Resurget: Chapter5**

On the barren slopes the assembled squads stood around the body of their fallen brother watching their Sergeants while Apothecary Memnos collected the gene-seed.

"This is your fault" Mylos growled.

"We honour his sacrifice and shall avenge him" replied Toran.

"Speak not to me of Honour" snarled Mylos, "That Traitor killed one of our own just like my twin."

Toran recognised that Mylos' anger went far deeper than this loss, he was still relieving old battles. He tried to draw the conversation back to the present saying, "Vorshaan outmatches us one to one, spread out widely we are vulnerable, we need to form a tighter spread."

"Are you saying I made a mistake?" growled Mylos angrily, "I will not be second guessed by the likes of you."

"Or we could recall the Thunderhawk" said Toran trying to appear calm and rational, "Then we could track Vorshaan."

Mylos growled "I should have known you would question orders, Captain Jossat has given his commands and we will obey."

Toran was insulted by the implication an Astartes would question his Captain's orders but bit down on his retort and instead said through gritted teeth, "I know my duty and I will see it prosecuted."

"You may have the Chaplains fooled but I know better" snarled Mylos, "When the time comes you will not be on the side of the righteous."

Apothecary Memnos stepped between them and said, "Two Sergeants arguing in front of their squads is unforgivable. The Chaplains shall hear of this and you shall both pay penance upon our return to the Fortress-Monastery."

Toran was shamed by this and bowed deeply in respect but Mylos only glared, not willing to let this go. Halis stepped forwards and said, "We must recognise that the positioning of the squads made it impossible for us to intervene in time. Individually we are no match for Vorshaan, we must adapt."

Mylos glared at them all and finally spat, "Very well, from now on we search in pairs; two together can hold the Traitor off long enough for the rest of us to intervene." Toran could not help but think that he had made the same point but coming from anyone else Mylos was willing to listen to the idea.

Mylos addressed the assembled Marines saying "Organise into pairs, we will continue the search, the Light of Terra is only three hours away and I want to present them with this Traitor's head upon deployment." Then he turned his back and set off, the rest of the squads forming into pairs and resuming the search.

In their new formation the pairs moved into the East following Vorshaan's last direction, Novak however paused and knelt to scoop up Wenver's gladius to honour the fallen brother. This time the squads kept closer together narrowing the area of the search but it was obvious escape was not the enemy's goal; he would find them.

Toran had paired up with Novak and they marched in lockstep, keeping each other in sight at all times, Bylan trailing silently behind. Toran holding his Chainsword and bolt pistol while Novak grasped a slim duelling rapier, the thin blade belaying its strength and lethal sharpness.

As they walked Novak said casually, "So you and Mylos…There is some history there".

Toran replied sadly, "I was there when his twin died and Mylos blames me, it was tragic circumstance but he could never accept that, he needed someone to hate."

"An unworthy sentiment" replied Novak, "Surely the Chaplains would not allow such a soul into our ranks."

Toran sighed and said, "The Astral Claws once thought the same, yet they allowed a soul like Lufgt Huron into their ranks. Mylos and his twin together were a force to be reckoned with, so dazzling were their skills it… blinded many to their flaws."

Novak muttered "His attitude is shameful, how did such a man make Sergeant?"

Toran replied, "His grudge is with me personally, when not facing a Brother he despises he is a fine Sergeant."

Novak snarled, "There are many things that are wrong in our Chapter, the Emperor Worship is just the start, standards must be slipping to allow Mylos' grudge to fester."

"He is Sergeant" cautioned Toran, "We will respect the rank if not the man, now focus on your duties."

As they talked they had approached a large outcropping of weathered rocks, piled high like discarded bricks replete with places to hide. Novak went right to circle around it, Toran and Bylan went left, soon they had moved far enough apart to lose sight of each other. Toran was about to call out that they should not drift so far apart when something happened.

For the rest of his life Toran could not describe the next seconds some primal instinct screamed that he was in danger but even with an eidetic memory he could not articulate what triggered it. Perhaps it was a hint of a shadow moving, perhaps the wind changed ever so slightly or the way the hair on his neck bristled. Instinctively Toran spun to bring his chainsword up high and it met a falling Chainglaive inches from his helm.

The blades whined against each other for a heartbeat then their incredible torque tore them apart sending their wielders flying. A blur of darkness and wings heralded Vorshaan surging out of nowhere, stabbing and slashing in a frenzy of frustrated rage. Toran had no time to think reacting purely on instinct to weave his chainsword in lattice of blocks and parries that barely kept the Chainglaive from ripping him to shreds.

He fell back step after step desperately trying to deny Vorshaan the opening to end his life. In only a few heartbeats a score of blows had been turned aside yet Toran had not seen even a chance to counter attack, it was all he could do to stay alive.

From one side Bylan jumped forwards determined to intervene, Vorshaan didn't even bother to look at him simply swinging one fist around to catch him mid-air with a lazy backhand to the head. The blow sent him flying, it would have crushed the skull of a mortal man but enhanced as he was it merely rendered the Serf unconscious, he sprawled in the dirt in a messy heap.

With a second to think Toran realised that he was outmatched by this foe, his bladework had never been in the first rank of the Chapter's Champions whereas Vorshaan had been practicing for ten thousand years. Toran opened a channel and yelled "Contact! I have contact!" as he barely deflected a lunge from the roaring chainglaive.

The polearm swung about bringing the serrated knife up, he allowed it to score across his hip armour taking the risk so he could bring his bolt pistol up. But Vorshaan heaved his weapon up catching Toran's elbow with the haft throwing off his aim and the bolt sailed harmlessly over their heads.

A strike from the chainglaive swept forward aiming for his hearts and Toran barley got his chainsword in the way fast enough so it only carved a deep gouge in his flank armour rather than penetrating his chest.

"Oh come now" hissed Vorshaan the leer oozing from his voice, "This is no sport, surely you can do better."

Toran braced himself for another attack but at that moment Novak appeared running hard and leaping past him into the fray. He was a dazzling whirlwind of flashing steel, his every move perfectly balanced and deadly.

In one hand he held his long duelling rapier in the other Wenver's short gladius, using them together to create a complex web of stabs and slashes. He launched a blizzard of strikes, his assault focussed and pure like a prodigy finding his passion or an artist in his element. It should not have been possible, these two blades required entirely different styles and tempers yet Novak wielded them in concert like a master conductor.

He wielded the blades in unison making each one far deadlier than it could ever have been paired with another of its kind. He would slash high with the rapier and at the same time cut low with the gladius, turn aside counterattacks with his long blade and simultaneously stab for the guts with the short blade.

It was an incredible display of skill yet Vorshaan matched him at every step, his polearm in constant movement, spinning and deflecting elegantly turning defence into counterattack. There was something entrancing about their duel, perfect balance and poise between them with neither able to find an opening. It was like seeing a dance that had been rehearsed to perfection or a performance given countless times until the artists no longer performed their role: they embodied it.

Seeing an opening Toran leapt forwards and brought his chainsword into the performance, feeling clumsy and brutish in comparison, the only other time he had felt like this was when he fought the Dark Eldar. Now it was Vorshaan falling back defensively blocking attacks from the combined pair of Space Marines, they drove him back step by step in a hurricane of sword blows.

Yet they still could not land a killing blow, Vorshaan swirling his polearm around to rob each blow of its power and the few attacks they landed did nothing more than score and chip his armour plates. They pressed forwards hacking and slashing but no matter where they placed their blows the polearm was somehow always just in the right place to deny them a fatal strike.

Toran snarled in anger and thrust forwards trying to break through with brutal force where skill had failed but Vorshaan was ready for such a tactic. The Chaos Lord arched his wings back and in one mighty beat propelled himself backwards a dozen feet.

The Marines charged forwards determined not to let him escape again but as they closed Vorshaan laughed and called to Novak, "You are good, adaptive and innovative, yet your style is not your weakness."

Then he brought his chainglaive up across his body catching both their blades as they fell. An unexpected click echoed forth and a short stiletto blade jumped out of his boot, he spun and kicked out to catch Novak in the back of the knee right where his armour failed to cover him. The knife cut deeply severing tendons and Novak fell with a roar of not of anger but of fury.

Vorshaan looked down and sneered, "You are too honourable to cheat" as he brought his Chainglaive around like a spear to face Toran.

Toran realised he was now the only thing in the Dusk Prince's way; he raised his chainsword and prepared to sell his life dearly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Tenebris Resurget: Chapter 6**

With a snarl of fury Vorshaan leapt forwards, his Chainglaive descending in a vicious cut, Toran moved to block but the polearm twisted and the haft caught him in the side throwing him off balance. This was followed up by a lightning quick slash from the serrated knife that slipped past his guard to scythe at his head, Toran barely manage to raise his arm quickly enough so the blade merely gouged his pauldron.

Vorshaan readjusted instantly swirling his chainglaive around, Toran caught the haft with his chainsword and gunned the motor to fling the polearm away. The Traitor snarled and attacked in a deluge of hacks and cuts, engaging from all angles.

For Toran it was like standing the path of a waterfall, sheer force coming from everywhere and he was unable to defend every side at once. There was no time for analysis and thoughts of style or timing, Toran was falling back on pure instinct and muscle memory to fight with. If he paused for a moment to think he would be dead and he weaved his chainsword desperately about feeling clumsy and brutish in comparison to his opponent.

The blows were thick and fast raining down upon him like hail and despite his most desperate defence his armour was quickly covered in scores and rents. As the duel swept backwards Toran saw Novak laying on the ground trying to track the enemy with his bolt pistol but the melee was too quick and fluid for him to risk a shot.

All Toran could do was parry and deny but knowing every second he delayed the enemy was another second for his squad brothers to arrive and catch the foe. Even if it cost him his life death would have meaning if by dying he served the Emperor's purpose.

Suddenly Vorshaan bunched to sweep low and Toran was about to move to parry but then he saw the slightest twitch in the wings. He realised the Heretic was feinting to open him up for a strike to his hearts and he raised his Chainsword across his chest instead. The timing could not have been more perfect for the two chain weapons met,their jagged teeth snarling together in an impossible knot.

The motors whined and spat black exhaust as they fought against one another while their wielders struggled merely to hold them. The torque was unbelievable, trying the tear the weapons apart and only the superhuman strength of the Astartes could keep them in place. Toran desperately held on to his juddering weapon knowing if he let go Vorshaan would gut him in a heartbeat.

Despite all his training and conditioning he could not escape an inevitable truth: Vorshaan was simply better than he was. He realised in that moment that all the forms and styles taught to him could not equal his opponent's experience and by all the rules of duelling he would loose.

The only way to win was to change the rules.

Disregarding all his training Toran lifted his thumb from his grip and slid it over the runes and in one jerk reversed the direction of his Chainsword. It was a desperate, foolhardy move that none of his instructors would have approved of and it took Vorshaan totally by surprise.

Braced for force entirely from one direction the Dusk Prince was suddenly wrenched by the unexpected twist and flung away, his wings billowing out and filling with air to carry him a dozen feet before slamming into the ground. The force of the impact rolled him over and over, his wings tangling around his body hampering his movements until he lay prone on the ground.

Instantly Toran charged forwards to hack down with his chainsword, Vorshaan barely got his polearm up in time to catch the blow inches from his helm. Toran roared in anger and slammed down hard again and again on the adamantium haft, trying to wear the Chaos Lord down before he could recover. There was no form or style to the assault only fury and rage driving his arms relentlessly.

Vorshaan met every blow with the haft of his weapon, arms lowering a millimetre with every blow until it was a hairsbreadth from his faceplate. With a snick the stiletto blade shot of the Chaos Lord's boot and he swung it up towards Toran's groin, the Sergeant however was ready for such a trick and pulled back. Unfortunately in doing so he gave Vorshaan a moment of respite and the Dusk Prince twisted, his spine writhing inhumanly like a snake as he leapt to his feet.

The opponents glared at each other and readied their weapons to finish this fight but then a sound carried through, many armoured boots pounding on rock and closing fast. Vorshaan held his chainglaive up before him and hissed, "You are getting better, perhaps next time you may provide some fleeting sport", then he bunched his wings and leapt into the sky.

Toran roared in denial raising his bolt pistol to fire on full auto at the retreating Traitor, the bolts were well aimed but Vorshaan's wings shimmered with Warp light propelling him faster than a jump pack. He evaded the hurtling bolts with a graceful roll and laughed scornfully as he spread his wings and sailed serenely off into the East.

Toran was left fuming in impotence as the Astartes closed on his position, first on the scene was Mylos stomping on his augmetic leg as he wrenched off his helm, "It seems I save your hide yet again" he growled.

"I thank you brother" said Toran in genuine gratitude.

Mylos' face conveyed exactly what he thought of the thanks, but he at least did not say what he was thinking. Instead he turned to the gathering marines and ordered, "What are you standing around for? You all saw what direction the Traitor fled in, form up and get after him!"

With that the squads paired off again and raced East trying to catch Vorshaan before he got too far. Meanwhile Bylan was coming round, half his face filled with a massive bruise and Toran helped him up saying "That was either an incredibly brave or foolish thing to do, surely you knew you could not hurt a Chaos Marine."

Bylan mumbled through a swollen face, "If he turned to kill me it would have distracted him for you Master."

Toran approved the Serf's spirit of self-sacrifice and patted the serf on the shoulder saying, "Well done lad."

Bylan's bruised face lit up at the gruff praise, he stood straighter and raised his head looking in awe at the Sergeant. Toran however just was glad his helm was on so the serf could not see how uncomfortable the hero worship was making him.

Thankfully Novak was getting to his feet, his Transhuman physiology knitting his tendons back together. He stretched and walked a few steps growing more powerful and confident with each pace. Only another Space Marine would have noticed the slight limp to his gait but it would enough to slow him down in combat.

With a nod the trio joined the squads in their chase, Toran pushing forwards with Bylan but Novak was slowed by his limp.

Silently they pressed on with their hunt until the sun dipped low casting their shadows out on the hillside before them. Time was slipping away but there was still no hint of the Dusk Prince's presence, it seemed even the lure of combat could no longer draw him out.

Eventually Toran sighed and said, "We have lost all sign of him".

"Could he have doubled back?" queried Novak.

"Why would he do that?" mused Toran.

Novak remarked, "Why has he done any of this?"

"The ways of Chaos are foul and obscured but it is of little consequence, the Light of Terra is little more than an hour away then he cannot escape." replied Toran

They spied a narrow gully in the hillside and Toran waved to Novak to indicate he and Bylan were going to inspect it. They descended into the dip until they could no longer see Novak and pressed onwards, Toran gripping his chainsword in anticipation.

As they walked Bylan said, "Master, I do not understand this Traitor."

Toran replied, "Caution boy, an open mind is like a Fortress with its gates unbarred and unguarded."

Bylan nodded as if he had just heard the wisest of words yet still said, "Yes Master but it is his tactics that confuse me; he always withdraws in the same direction, East always East. And he lets us see him do so… Why would he do that?"

Toran was startled by the thought for he had assumed Vorshaan had beaten a retreat in the face of superior numbers or force. He had assumed the direction was random and as the Holy Codex taught assumption was the wellspring of mistakes.

Toran mused "I had not considered that, but attacking only to withdraw again makes no sense, all he has achieved is to draw more reinforcements down on his head. Yet the Dusk Prince is infamous for his cunning not his blood lust... so if his tactics are indeed deliberate what does he stand to gain?"

Toran wracked his brain but could not think of any answer that made sense; by any reckoning Vorshaan's tactics were folly.

Then Bylan spoke again saying, "Master, if you say his actions are deliberate then I cannot help but wonder what has the Chapter brought into the equation that Vorshaan did not already possess?"

Toran was stunned by the question and he took a long moment to think about it, then the truth dawned on him and suddenly it all made sense. "Warp curse me as a thrice-damned fool, " he swore then turned and began racing back out of the gully as he keyed his vox on a wide channel, "Everybody return to the battleground, return now!"

"Have you lost your mind cur?" cut in Mylos over the vox, "You would have us abort the mission?"

"Vorshaan has been playing us from the very start" barked Toran, "The Dusk Prince attacks and withdraws, always in the same direction. He drew us further and further into the hills then slipped behind us."

"How do you know this?" hissed Mylos.

"Just get back to the battlefield!" yelled Toran running onto the hillside and turning West, "Vorshaan knew we would rush reinforcements here, he must have left a ship hidden in orbit."

"You are making no sense, what are you talking about?" barked Mylos.

Toran yelled "Vorshaan needs to get off this planet but knows the PDF would intercept any civilian shuttle he could steal."

"He wants the Thunderhawk!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Tenebris Resurget: Chapter 7**

The sun was barely a half circle over the horizon as two figures ran onto the battlefield, Toran and Bylan racing hard the serf practically turning blue with exertion. Novak and the other marines were but a few minutes behind but might as well have been on Terra for all the difference they could make.

Ahead of them the battlefield was a smoking wasteland of debris, fresh corpses added to the piles of dead, many still oozing blood. Toran scanned the piles of grey clad bodies and knew he had failed to protect them, thankfully there was no sign of Hevostan anywhere, he must have evacuated with the most precious relics in the first wave.

Before them they could see the Thunderhawk Transporter, its pilot's corpses strewn about as a midnight clad figure with large wings loomed over them. Vorshaan was here, yet he was not alone, Halis had somehow got there first and was fighting the Dusk Prince with a savage fury.

Halis blocked and spun and weaved but he was clearly outmatched by the Dusk Prince; he caught the chainglaive on his combat blade but was pulled off balance as Vorshaan twisted his grip. The vicious edge of the Chainglaive swung round and caught Halis in the back of the leg, hamstringing him in a spray of blood. The Space marines went down hard and Vorshaan laughed as he raised his polearm for the decapitating strike, but Toran leapt to intervene.

As the blade descended the Sergeant threw himself forward and caught the grinding weapon with his own chainsword. Vorshaan looked up and chuckled as he said, "Good, I was worried I wouldn't get to kill you before I left". With a twitch Vorshaan reversed the direction of his Chainglaive but Toran was ready and was merely pushed back a step.

A flurry of blows came at him but Toran had learned much from their last encounter and met them with expertly timed blows from his chainsword. Every time his blade caught the haft he gunned the motor and the increased spin of the blades flung the polearm away with more force than he alone could generate.

Vorshaan was pushed back by the impenetrable defence and took a step backwards. The two Space Marines regarded each over for a second then lunged at each other determined to finish this once and for all.

This time it was Toran attacking, bring his Chainsword down in savage cuts and powerful lunges, he knew he could not beat Vorshaan with skill so relied upon raw fury and rage to keep him off balance. Vorshaan fell back at a steady pace, using his polearm to divert each attack off course, launching scything counterattacks with every stroke.

The fight was fast and vicious, Toran driven by an energy he had never felt before, pushing him to levels of fury he had not known he was capable of. He realised with a shock that he hated this Traitor; that was strange for he had thought he knew what hatred was. In that moment he realised that he merely held rebels in contempt, despised Heretics and loathed the Xeno but this… this fire in his gut was true hatred.

He fought with a newfound strength and passion, his whole existence focussed on cutting down his enemy and avenging his brothers. His fury drove him to new heights of power, fighting with speed and strength he had never known he was capabale of.

He snarled at the Traitor's rancid presence, determined to wipe out this stain from existence. He redoubled his efforts to cut him down, knowing that the universe would be so clean once the Chaos Lord was dead.

Vorshaan kept falling back, his spinning style creating a glittering web of defence before him. For all his hatred and power Toran could not penetrate the Traitor's guard and he could not land a fatal blow.

Never ceasing to parry Vorshaan stepped over a corpse and paused, his boot lodged under a broken ribcage. With a triumphant yell Vorshaan kicked upwards launching the body at his opponent as effortlessly as a man would kick a ration can. Toran caught the unexpected weight in the midriff, a mass and inertia that would have crushed a man merely forced him off balance for a moment.

Yet it was enough because an instant his guard lowered and the Traitor attacked in a blur of flashing steel. The chainglaive swung around past his blade to catch Toran in the side of the helm. The roaring weapon tore ceramite to ribbons sending jagged splinters flying as it carved deeper and deeper until it ripped out Toran's right eye.

Toran fell back his vision filled only with his own blood and was unprepared for the smash of the polearm's haft that followed. He was knocked backwards and toppled over onto the ground, feeling his weapons kicked from his grip by a pair of ceramite boots.

Toran reached up and wrestled his broken helm from his skull, feeling like his face was on fire as it tore free. He could sense the right side of his face was a horrifying mess of blood and broken bone around his shattered eye socket, he would never see out of that eye again.

He blinked his other eye clear and through a red mist looked up at Vorshaan standing over him Chainglaive pointed straight at his throat. The Dusk Prince looked down at him clearly enjoying seeing a Space Marine helpless before him and said, "You provided some small amusement but you are still not good enough."

Vorshaan pulled the polearm up high in both hands ready to plunge down and end Toran's life but even as the stroke fell another player entered the game. From behind the Chaos Marine leapt a grey clad figure, grasping a broken blade in one hand and diving to tackle Vorshaan around the waist, it was Bylan.

So focussed had Vorshaan been on enjoying his triumph he had forgotten he serf was there and was caught off guard as the weight of tackle threw them aside.

They crashed to the ground and through his blood soaked vision Toran could see that Bylan had plunged the knife between armour plates cutting deeply. The serf struggled back to his feet but the Chaos Marine was faster, springing up seemingly untroubled by the knife in his side.

Bylan was unarmed now yet still tried to jump forwards and land a punch but Vorshaan moved like lightning. With eye watering speed he punched his polearm out laterally smashing it into Bylan's face shatter ing teeth and breaking his nose.

The Serf fell back clutching his face as blood streamed down his chin, it was a fatal mistake. Vorshaan spun on one foot and swung his chainglaive around, angling the serrated knife to plunge into Bylan's chest. The serf seemed stunned and stood absolutely still for a moment, he coughed once bringing up a spray of blood before falling to his knees then onto his face.

Vorshaan laughed at the sight and spun his polearm around to face Toran once more; he looked at the prone Sergeant and said, "So… any last words?"

Toran grinned through a face full of blood and said, "Only this: We are the Emperor's Storm".

Even with his helm on Vorshaan's body language betrayed puzzlement for second before a bolt round crashed off his pauldron cracking the ceramite. He whirled around to see Halis had sat up, with the moment the serf had bought he had crawled over to grab a fallen bolter and he held in it both hands as he yelled "We are His Wrath!"

Halis held down the trigger releasing a fusillade of supersonic bolts at the Traitor but Vorshaan swept his leathery wings up before him. The bolts frayed and shredded his wings and the Chaos Marine screamed in agony as his flesh was rent but the act robed the rounds of their force and none of them went on to penetrate his armour.

With a final clunk the bolter ran dry and Vorshaan straightened pulling the tattered remains of his wings back as they dripped black blood. With one swift move he leapt forwards and kicked Halis in the side of the helm, knocking him onto his back again.

Halis fell back as Vorshaan raised his Chainglaive like an executioner's axe but it was too late for then he spied a dozen armoured figures emerging onto the battlefield, Toran's brothers and Mylos squad had finally arrived.

Vorshaan snarled at the sight then turned to run for the Thunderhawk but he paused by Toran and said, "I want you to know child I could still kill you, I hold your life in my hands but that would be… no sport. I want you to remember this in the small hours of the night and know I defeated you; I want you to get better and seek me out. Perhaps next time you will be good enough to be worth killing."

Then he spun his Chainglaive into parade grasp and gave a jaunty salute before he bounded away and raced up the ramp of the Thunderhawk broken wings flapping behind him. Toran wasted not a moment to roll over and blinked away blood, grabbing for his bolt pistol.

He rolled back and saw Vorshaan at the controls of the Transporter, Toran levelled his bolt pistol and began firing off rounds but they deflected off the thick armour.

As a dozen space marines ran into weapons range the Thunderhawk's engines roared and with a blast of downdraft it took off turning on a column of thrust. The Transporter spun on the spot and the throttles opened; Toran was blown backwards across the blood soaked ground by the jet wash. He struggled not to roll over holding up his hand before his one good eye.

The massive shape of the Transporter hurled itself forwards, accelerating away far beyond any possible retribution. As the hurricane wind faded Toran could see the Thunderhawk soaring away into the setting dusk sun, taking Vorshaan to Freedom.

The sergeant could do nothing but roar in denial and anger as he watched the Dusk Prince escape back into the stars.


	8. Chapter 8

**Tenebris Resurget: Chapter 8**

The Medicae chamber was a cold white sterile place, filled with IV lines and beeping monitors, yet through that could still be heard the faint rumble of the Battle Barge's engines as it plied through the void. The body in the bed could easily have been mistaken for a large man but was in truth merely a boy, he was unconscious but alive, his breathing accompanied by a distinct mechanical rasp with every respiration he took. It was the serf Bylan and he lay there oblivious to what had been done to him.

Standing at the end of the bed were two massively over muscled Transhumans, one in cream robes the other in a blue robe with a silver badge pinned on his bicep. The right side of his face was a mass of inflamed scar tissue and implanted metal plates surrounding an augmetic eye, its unblinking red stare giving him a furious aspect to his features. The pair of them stood there awaiting the serf to regain consciousness and discussing the aftermath of their campaign.

Apothecary Memnos was speaking saying "The boy's recovery is progressing well, surprising considering the damage done to his physiology."

Sergeant Toran crossed his arms and said, "His spirit is stronger than anyone gave him credit for, he will not yield now ."

Memnos nodded and said, "A small victory but one badly needed after the losses we sustained, two more brothers lost on top of those sacrificed to stop the invasion. A hollow victory indeed."

"You recovered their gene-seed" replied Sergeant Toran, "Their legacy will live on and someday we shall have vengeance, this I swear."

"What of the Heretic?" quiered Memnos who had spent the last two days locked in surgeries, including fitting Toran's new eye.

Toran growled in frustrated anger, "The stolen Transporter escaped the blockade, the PDF would not think to challenge a Thunderhawk. It met up with a derelict freighter only it wasn't as dead as we thought, as soon as he boarded it powered up and raced for deep space. It jumped into Warp before anyone could intercept it."

Memnos shook his head and said, "A dark day indeed, so much went wrong on that mountain but what concerns me most of all is what happened between you and Sergeant Mylos. I have at least seen you attempt to rise above such pettiness but Mylos refuses to acknowledge his failings. I must discuss our psychological screening programs with Chief Apothcary Lessall, clearly not every flaw has been eliminated."

Toran was surprised to hear such a sentiment from the Apothecary and looked at him out of the corner of his eye, regarding his stern demeanour and uncompromising stance. And yet in his voice there was suggestion of discontent, of a soul who had seen in the Chapter that which should be noble and shining instead becoming tarnished.

Casually is if were a matter of little import Toran remarked, "I have never had an opportunity to discuss Theological affairs with an Apothecary before, tell me what is your order believes in."

Memnos let out a grunt of a laugh and remarked, "Largely we believe in Chief Apothecary Lessall."

Toran said, "I confess I am surprised to hear this but then he has been chief apothecary for many centuries."

"Save the honoured venerable Dreadnoughts there is not a soul alive in the Chapter who cannot remember a day he was not watching over us" remarked Memnos.

"And I trust he ensure the Apothecaries give proper deference to the Emperor?" asked Toran,

"Ah... you mean the Worship" said Memnos quietly, "We leave such matters to the Chaplains, our order is dedicated to more temporal concerns. The Emperor gave us a duty to sustain and strengthen our Chapters, we do not take sides in debates of Theology and Spirituality."

Before Toran could explore further there was a groan from the bed and Bylan stirred, Memnos hurried to check his vital signs and once he was satisfied nodded to Toran to take his leave. Toran moved to stand by the bedside and waited long minutes for the boy to awaken.

Eventually Bylan opened his bleary eyes and looked around the sterile room, confusion arose but settled back once he saw Sergeant Toran. He weakly tried to sit up but sank back then drew in a rasping breath and in a monotone mechanical drone said, "+What Happened+".

He looked shocked at the sound of his own voice and grabbed his medical robes ripping them apart to reveal his chest was a mass of scars. Metal plates covered his biceps and plastic tubes ran up into his throat and up to his larynx. In horror Bylan tried to sit up but when he tensed fell into a coughing fit, he panicked and grabbed his scarred chest the mechanical wheezing growing more frantic.

Toran placed one calloused hand on his chest and held him down effortlessly, saying "Relax child, breathe just breathe, slow and steady like you were on the firing range."

Bylan sank back and his panic subsided, he drew in a rasping breath and in his momotone drone n said, "+Master, What Has Become Of Me+".

Toran looked upon the serf and said, "The Traitor Vorshaan struck you most fiercely with his blade, your right lung was destroyed and the left pierced. Had you not been blessed with a multi-lung you would have died right there. Afterwards you were left comatose, many thought you should be allowed to die in honour but I used my position as Sergeant to get Hevostan and Memnos to replace your lungs."

"+Why+" asked Bylan unable to grasp the situation.

Toran replied "You laid hands upon the Dusk Prince, a feat many accomplished brothers have failed to do. You saved my life and I owed you a debt, I saved your life in return."

Bylan glanced down at his cybernetic chest and recoiled in disgust but it was not his physical form that distressed him for he said, "+I Am No Longer Fit Even For The Serfs, I Have Lost My Purpose+"

Toran placed a hand on the boys shoulder and said, "Perhaps I was not clear, these are not third rate implants from some unsanctified back street pedlar. These Augmetics are from the Forgemasters own reliquary, such as would be granted to an Initiate brother. They are far superior to your mortal lungs, if a little cumbersome. Your body has yet to adapt to the implants but once you become accustomed to them you will find your vitality greater than ever."

Bylan looked up and said "+Then I Am To Return To Service+"

"Yes" replied Toran, "But not as a Serf."

Bylan put a confused look on his face as Toran continued, "With these Augmetics it is no longer appropriate for you to remain a Serf. The Chapter has made a great investment in you and it is expected to be repaid with blood and sacrifice. Which is why I had spoken to the Masters and petitioned that you be readmitted to Tenth Company."

Bylan practically leapt out of the bed at the news, for this was unprecedented, once dismissed from ascension there was no going back. To be given a second chance was unheard of in the ranks of the Space Marines. A look of wonder crept onto his face and he wheezed, "+Master, I Owe You My Thanks+".

Toran slammed his palm hard down on the bed making Bylan jump as he roared, "No! Do not thank me, I am not favouring you and this is no reward. If you do this then you face a future of pain, hardship and sacrifice. You are aged now to receive the remaining implants; the agonies will be far greater than even a normal Scout endures but that is only the start."

Toran leaned back and explained further, "There are trials and tests of character ahead, tribulations that break all but a handful of men: men stronger and sterner than you. If you think this will be easy, if you think you deserve a reward you will fail and die an agonising death. You must choose to do this selflessly and be ready to sacrifice all for the sake of others."

"+I Am Not Afraid+" replied Bylan still with a look of wonder in his eye.

"A child's answer" said Toran in a softer tone of voice, "Frankly the Masters were surprised I even petitioned, they thought it would be kinder to let you die. Yet I the boy I saw on that field was willing to die if he could be of purpose and that is what is required of you."

Bylan looked confused now as Toran said, "Understand this, the boy you are now will not survive the trails, this person will cease to be one way or another. But I can offer you a chance to become someone greater, someone nobler and selfless. A Space Marine who has the power to make a difference in the galaxy."

He stood up and removed the badge from his robe, upon it was the marking of Ninth Company, then he placed it on the bedside.

He said "If you survive the trails ahead, if you can become someone of worth, then there will be a place waiting for you in Pyrus Squad."

Then he walked out the door leaving Bylan struggling to grasp the new universe opening before him.

The End


End file.
